Bittersweet
by wemmafanfics
Summary: (Teen Wemma AU) There comes a time in your life when what you once thought was the end of your world will turn out to be a spring of new beginnings and a life, better than you'd ever expect. Because life's funny that way. Life... is bittersweet. (Other genres: Family / Romance)
1. Chapter 1: Something Beyond Me

Chapter 1

_Something Beyond Me*_

The silver sedan, glimmering in the faint glow of the rising sun, honked twice in front of the two-storey house where it was parked. There were no responses from anyone inside the house; again the silver sedan honked, louder this time, but its sounds only seemed like desperate pleas for attention—pleas that Will Schuester did not want to give in to so he ignored them. He glanced at the front door for a moment before he ran up the wooden stairs, dragging his heavy backpack along with him.

Edward Schuester had been waiting outside the house for nearly twenty minutes now. His son had promised to be out in five minutes—but in every five minutes that Will did not show up he would honk his silver sedan twice, and in every five minutes that passed he too, would slowly lose his patience. Frustrated, he stepped out of his car and authoritatively marched towards the house, whose front porch was beginning to pile up with dust and dried leaves brought about by the autumn season. The house was eerily silent when he entered, although it still looked completely ordinary—the furniture were in place and some pictures of Will and his mother hung by the walls— with no traces of having been left unattended for a few weeks, except for the vase of wilting flowers in the living room. Ed strode past the living room and peeked into the kitchen where he last left Will, but just as he expected, he wasn't there. Sighing, he made his way to the second floor, his footsteps not making any sound as he climbed the wooden stairs.

Will was sitting on one side of his mother's bed, his arms wrapped tightly around one of her pillows, while he stared aimlessly at his shoes. He had never felt so comfortable the way he felt now; he hadn't felt this relieved in weeks since his mother had gone. He didn't want to leave this house—it was his home, and it was going to be the only place that would feel like home to him.

"You said you'd be out in five minutes." Ed stated indifferently, as he entered the first open bedroom door and found Will sitting on the bed. The older Schuester grabbed his son's backpack with one hand and placed his other hand on Will's shoulder, squeezing it firmly. "We need to leave. I told you, you can come back here this weekend to get the rest of your things. Now we have to go."

But Will was unresponsive, as though his father wasn't standing next to him; he didn't even feel his father's hand on his shoulder. Ed pulled Will up to his feet and taking the pillow from him, threw it carelessly back onto the bed. "We have to leave, now."

Will slammed shut the passenger door of the silver sedan as loudly as possible after settling into the seat beside his father. He wanted to make sure that in every available opportunity, his father knew that he didn't want to leave. Ed Schuester shot him an irritated look but said nothing, opting to focus on driving back to Lima and ignoring the fact that they were already running late on an important appointment. Will huffed and leaned back on his seat, plugging his earphones on and turning up the volume on his iPod to avoid any conversation with his father.

Almost three hours of driving and they both finally arrived in Lima, Ohio. It was already half past nine and they were late for an appointment with Mr. Preston, Ed Schuester's high school classmate and currently the principal of McKinley High School, where Will was to be transferred.

"You're lucky Mr. Preston is a friend of mine." Ed spoke deliberately loud as he smoothly swerved past slow-driving cars while driving at the maximum speed limit. "It's bad enough that I asked him a favor to get you in as one of his students in such a short notice, but now we're late in our meeting with him too, and—"

"Then you shouldn't have forced me to go with you." Will muttered, leaning closer to the window, glaring at the unfamiliar cars, people, and buildings that they passed; _this was not his home_.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me," Will shot back. He had turned his iPod off, knowing what was about to come; he was not afraid of this man. He was going to answer back, even if it meant being a "bad son" to his "father"—because as far as he was concerned, he was nobody's son anymore, not after his mother had died.

Ed bit his lip and clenched his hands upon the steering wheel, before turning left at a corner with a sign stating that McKinley High was only a few blocks away. "You will not speak to me that way, William. I am your father," he said, as calmly as he possibly could.

"As far as I know, I lost my dad in a fire."

"Is that what _she_ made you believe all these years?" Ed's voice, as well as his temper, rose.

"Don't bring _her _into this; she had nothing to do with it!" Will yelled, his hands balling into fists and his eyes burning with tears he wouldn't let fall. "I made myself believe that _you_ were burning in hell! And if you ask me, I think you're still burning there—"

The silver sedan screeched to a stop all of a sudden, and if it weren't for the seatbelts they were wearing, both Ed and Will would have been thrown out of the vehicle.

Ed started the vehicle once again, this time driving more cautiously into McKinley High's parking lot. "My wife, my son, and I…," he said sternly, anger still evident in his voice, "have agreed to let you live with us so that social services won't have to take you away. It's the least I could do for your mother—"

"Yeah, after you got her pregnant and you ran off to marry another woman instead—"

"William—"

"You should've let social services take me," Will hissed, unbuckling his seatbelt as soon as his father had found a parking spot, right next to a dumpster vandalized with big letters that spelled _LOSERS_. He got out of the sedan and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

Ed made sure the doors of his sedan were locked before he made his way, striding, to the school entrance, with Will reluctantly following behind. "We will talk about this later, at _home_—"

"This town isn't my home—"

"Do not interrupt me when I speak!" The older Schuester burst out exasperatedly, a vein in his neck sticking out as he stared down at his son. "We will talk about this later, at home," he repeated, emphasizing _home_ with such boldness if only to display authority over his own son. "Now behave, I don't want you screwing things up in front of your new principal."

"Why, he seems like a good boy, Eddie," John Preston mused, as he scanned through a thick folder full of Will's transcripts and official documents from his previous school. Ed Schuester's jaw tightened for a moment, but he managed to fake a grin as he clapped Will on the shoulder.

"You'll soon find that he tends to be… adamant," he said.

"Of course he is—he's your son, he's supposed to be like you!" laughed Mr. Preston, shifting his gaze from Ed to Will, amused. "And he's had excellent grades so far, especially in his science subjects, Eddie. I won't be surprised if he turns out to be just like you— Lima's finest orthopedic surgeon…."

Will, who had been staring at the McKinley High logo on Mr. Preston's desk, jerked his head up so quickly upon hearing about the work his father did. _A surgeon? _Will never knew that about him; his mother never told him, and when Ed had introduced himself at the funeral, all he ever said was that he was Will's father. He glanced sideward to where his father was seated, and he suddenly noticed everything about Ed Schuester: it was all too obvious that he was simply not like any working man, if only Will had been paying attention at all— the neatly-ironed long-sleeved shirt, slacks, and the royal blue necktie; the expensive watch on his wrist, the cell phone attached to his belt, and the tidy black shoes; and of course, the way he walked so proudly, building an aura of confidence around him. Will could now see that his father was indeed a well-educated man. _A well-educated man who would leave a pregnant woman for another, only to take notice of his bastard son when the child's mother died—_

Will hadn't noticed that he was gaping at his father until Mr. Preston's voice seeped through his thoughts. "Here are your class schedules, William, as well as some forms you'll need to submit to your teachers when you attend their classes for the first time." The principal had stood up and handed him a folder with all the said papers. Will accepted them silently, while his father signaled with his eyes for him to quit staring. Turning away from his father's piercing look, Will nodded once at Mr. Preston. "Oh, uh, thanks," he muttered, waving the folder in his hand.

Ed Schuester cleared his throat, grabbing Will's arm and hoisting him up. "John, if you don't mind, I think he needs to get to class. We were already late to begin with, and I don't want him to miss out on his first day." Will understood what he was being told to do, so he clutched his backpack and hurriedly went for the door, relieved that he wouldn't have to endure another moment with these two men he could barely trust. Being in class was better than being in the principal's office, right? But Will knew he didn't belong anywhere, either way; he didn't belong anywhere now. _Where should he go?_

"Have fun," Mr. Preston called out to him. Will only shrugged and avoided making further eye contact with the two men whom he knew were watching his every move. And just as Will had expected, the two men started talking about him once they thought he was out of earshot. "Well Eddie, you never told me you had a secret life!" John Preston chuckled. "And without warning me, you're showing up here with another son— a teenage son, Eddie! I thought Henry was your only kid…."

"I'm not proud of _it_, John. I made a stupid mistake seventeen years ago…." Ed Schuester scoffed, and it was the last that Will wanted to hear. He'd had enough for one day, and the day wasn't even halfway through. He rushed past the principal's secretary and slammed the door behind him, not bothering to turn back and see if his father and the principal had seen him do it.

Deafening silence in the empty hallways greeted him once he had walked far enough from the principal office's vicinity. Will fumbled through the papers in his folder and found that he was supposed to be in a chemistry class at this particular time, and lucky for him, the said class happened to be on the same floor where he was right now; all he had to do was find the classroom. He walked warily through the halls, making sure he didn't just walk past the classroom where he was supposed to be.

Will made sure his footsteps were silent, but he could swear he heard soft echoes of shoes tapping on the ground— sounds he was sure his sneakers didn't make. Slightly shifting his head sideward, he glanced behind, but found no one. Will rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw, a bit irritated at himself for how he must've hallucinated, how maybe his lack of sleep made him imagine the footsteps, but as soon as he made a right turn to the next empty hallway, he fell back against the lockers as a strong force grabbed his backpack from behind, pulling him along with it. Will barely had time to register who had pinned him against the cold, metal lockers when the stranger punched him, painfully, in the jaw, and he fell to the floor, his mouth beginning to fill up with warm blood. His class schedules, as well as the other official forms in the folder Mr. Preston gave him, flew all over the place as his body hit the ground.

"Give me your lunch money, idiot," a rough voice growled threateningly at him, while a few voices chuckled in the background. Will laid his head on the floor, panting, unable to speak because he didn't want to cough out the blood in his mouth. Starting to feel dizzy, he reached into his back pocket and grabbed a handful of dollars that his father had given him in the car earlier this morning. He knew he didn't have the energy to overpower a group of boys—there were three of them— and he'd rather starve through the day than to buy food with Ed Schuester's money. Besides, as far as he could remember, his mother had left him a good amount of money—he figured he'd live off of that until he was old enough to get a job and earn his own.

"This one's easy," jeered the boy as he clawed the money from Will's hand. "Thanks," he said, laughing as he pulled Will to his feet. "Don't you dare say a word about this, understand? Or the rest of us will turn you into a punching bag."

Will could only glare at them, before the bullies left in a huddle, congratulating themselves. It was as if Will didn't hate this town bad enough that now Lima, Ohio has given him another reason to resent being forced to live in it. He had forgotten the chemistry class he was supposed to be attending, his body in desperate need of sleep, or at the very least, a place he could rest his aching head upon. Careful not to lose his balance, he gathered his scattered papers from the floor, and slowly inched his way along the empty hallways to find the clinic.

Will's head was throbbing, his thoughts all set on what else could possibly go wrong for the remainder of the day; the poor boy still had a long way to go, only he didn't know how much longer he would last in it.

* * *

_*I owe the Fleet Foxes one of the lines from their song, _Helplessness Blues_, as the title of this chapter. _


	2. Chapter 2: Where Did The Blue Skies Go?

Chapter 2

_Where Did the Blue Skies Go?*_

"_My goodness, what happened to you?"_

Will limped his way inside the nurse's clinic, pained by his sore shoulders and swollen left jaw, but said nothing. The nurse scrambled around her desk to accommodate Will, gently leading him into another room separated from the nurse's office by a thin, mint green curtain. Inside there were four beds equally spaced from each other— one of which was already occupied by a student who was completely wrapped up in a blanket.

"You lay down here," said the nurse, patting the bed farthest from the other student, "It's bad enough that you're battered and bruised; now I don't want you to catch what he's having too." As Will settled onto the bed and took his shoes off, the nurse eyed the other student worriedly and sighed, hurrying back to her desk; as soon as the nurse disappeared and was on the other side of the curtain, Will took a face towel tucked in one of his backpack's outer pockets and coughed into it the blood he had been holding in since he was punched. He yawned slowly, because even the slightest movement of his jaw was proving to be more painful than he'd expected.

The nurse seemed to be hastily moving around from the other side of the room, with sounds of cabinets and drawers being opened and objects seemingly set onto a tray. Without warning, the mint green curtain was drawn back and the nurse reappeared, holding a tray in which a first aid kit and a glass of water were placed. Startled, Will hastily hid his bloodied towel under the pillow on his bed as the nurse took a seat across from him.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" the nurse asked sincerely. Will only shook his head and looked away. The nurse shrugged knowingly, expecting this kind of response; she reached out to him, dabbing his left jaw with cotton soaked in antiseptic. "I bet it was Drake and his boys again," she whispered. "Was it?" Will stared at the nurse, whose eyes reflected nothing but concern for him. _He was brought back to the time when he was ten, and he had suffered a fractured bone from playing soccer at school; he regained consciousness at the hospital, and the first thing he remembered seeing were his mother's eyes, looking down on him with concern, worry, and so much love for her only son…. _

"Dear, where else does it hurt?"

Will blinked, realizing he had been reliving a memory long gone. "I… I just need to sleep, please," he begged.

"All right, then," said the nurse, smiling. "You can stay for as long as you need to rest." She handed him the glass of water and a pill. "Don't worry; it's just a pain reliever." Will took the pill and drank it down without hesitation, and soon enough he was starting to feel numb and drowsier than he had been when he first sat on the bed. He finally rested his head on the pillow, feeling his eyelids close immediately.

The nurse had put the glass and the first aid kit back on the tray, and was already returning to her desk when she remembered. "I don't think I've ever seen you around here, though… what's your name, dear?"

Will struggled to open his eyes and was not even sure if he heard the question correctly, but he answered anyway. "Will… _Schuester_," he mumbled, before the last of his strength left him and he succumbed to unconsciousness.

He didn't know how long he had been sleeping, but for some reason Will felt that the mattress he had been laying upon was just as comfortable as his bed back home. It was a much needed rest that Will needed; for the past two weeks since his mother died, he had only been getting an hour or two of sleep each day, as though his body was fighting its need to rest—wishing and hoping instead, that in any moment his mother would return. Will turned on his side and slightly stretched his legs, his eyes still closed. From the other side of the curtain, he could hear the nurse talking to another female—a younger girl, judging from the voice; they were whispering, as if they were discussing something taboo.

"Yes, his last name is Schuester—" the nurse's voice interrupted his thoughts, and to make things worse he couldn't find a way to fall back to sleep and ignore their voices. Will was never the type to listen in on someone else's conversation, but as soon as he heard his last name he might as well know what the subject of their discussion really was.

"But did you mean 'Schuester'—like a relative of Dr. Schuester, or do they just happen to have the same last name?" the younger female voice asked.

"You know I can't say too much about this. Principal Preston told the faculty and staff to keep this subject as low-key as possible," the nurse replied. There was silence, aside from the sound of papers being rearranged and the shutting of a drawer. "I'm sorry, Emma," the nurse said. "It's not that I don't trust you, but I can't just… think about the boy…."

More silence. But the younger girl, Emma, suddenly spoke. "I know I'm being overly intrusive by asking this, Mrs. Peterson," she said. "But I need to know." Her voice was firm and determined. "You know Henry's my best friend but he's been avoiding me all day while the other kids are already spreading rumors about this." She sighed. "As much as you're worried about—about _him_… I'm just as worried about Henry. Please, I need to know the truth."

_So the talks and the whispers have begun_, thought Will. Pretty soon everyone will start to know him not only as the new kid in school, but as Dr. Schuester's illegitimate son. He finally opened his eyes and sat up, feeling well-rested but anxious.

"Well… yes, Will Schuester is Dr. Schuester's son," said Mrs. Peterson as quickly as she possibly could. "That's all I could tell you, Emma." The nurse said sternly, her footsteps shuffling as she bustled around in her office. "Now back to work—you were supposed to wake him up."

A split-second later and the mint green curtain was drawn back to reveal Will, already awake and sitting up in bed; he looked just as startled as the girl who had drawn back the curtain—Emma. She was younger than him—she was only sixteen— although basing on the conversation Will had eavesdropped on a while back, he had imagined that she would be older than him. Apparently, it was only the way she talked that made her seem mature. Emma was wearing a white button-down blouse and a flowing, yellow skirt that ended just below her knees. She was pale but her face was red, just like the wavy hair that ended right above her elbows. Her eyes showed every hint that she was mortified, staring back at Will as she stood there with her mouth slightly open.

"Oh," she managed to choke out. "H-he's awake, Mrs. Peterson," Emma called out to the nurse, her voice shaking. Will stared her down, furious that she had been too curious about him, but as soon as Mrs. Peterson came by he chose to look at her instead.

"Your father's here, Will," Mrs. Peterson said, oblivious to the tension between an embarrassed Emma and an angry Will. "He's waiting for you at the parking lot."

"Wait—why? What about my classes?" Will sounded confused, but he bent down and slipped on his shoes anyway.

"It's 3 o'clock. School's done for the day, you may go home and rest," said Mrs. Peterson, smiling at the two teenagers before she went back to her desk. Taking his backpack with him, Will stood up and headed for the door, shooting Emma one last menacing look and a word of thanks to the nurse before he left. Will was far from excited to see Ed Schuester again, but he was relieved that he didn't have to attend any of his classes today— even if it meant getting punched and picked on by some boys in order to get some sleep in the school clinic. He was once again alone in the hallway, trying to remember the way to the parking lot, when he heard loud tapping footsteps seemingly running after him.

"Wait!" Emma panted behind him, the tapping of her flat shoes still ringing in Will's ears. He walked on, pretending not to hear her.

"Wait, please!" she pleaded. "The parking lot is this way," Emma said. Will turned and saw that she was pointing in the opposite direction; she knew this school better than he did, and knew he had just made a fool of himself, but he did not let his embarrassment show.

"Of course," he grumbled coolly, turning to walk in the direction Emma was pointing, making sure to avoid her eyes when he passed her. To his surprise, the noisy tapping of Emma's flat shoes still followed him.

"What now?" Will hissed at her.

"I am so sorry about what happened earlier," said Emma, speeding up a little to be able to walk alongside Will. "It was wrong to talk about you behind your back. I didn't know you were already awake—"

"So you weren't going to apologize if you knew I wasn't around to hear you gossiping about me?"

"No, that's not at all what I meant, Will," pleaded Emma.

"Then what exactly did you mean?" They had reached the exit; Will stopped and turned to face Emma, glaring at her.

Emma was panicking, intimidated by the way Will was treating her. "I—I don't know what I mean, I— I'm just sorry, okay?" she stammered.

"Sure," Will scoffed as he closed his hand on the handle of the door leading to the parking lot. "Go ahead and act like you care about me; that's all everybody pretends to do ever since—" He inhaled sharply, terrified by what he almost said. _Ever since mom died_, he finished the sentence in his head. He was so close to acknowledging the sad truth aloud, but he stopped himself, wanting to believe that if he kept it in his head and avoided speaking about it then somehow it might actually turn out to be a long nightmare instead. Only it wasn't; Will knew it was really happening to him, but he wanted nothing else but to deny the truth.

"Will," mumbled Emma, stretching out her hand to pat his shoulder, but Will's reflexes were surprisingly quick. Once he felt her touch him, he shied away instantly.

"Leave me alone!" Will did not mean for his voice to rise, but he was frustrated at Emma. He knew he'd gone too far; he knew it was wrong right after he had yelled at her, but he didn't want to apologize just yet. "I have to go," he mumbled, not even daring to look at Emma before he left.

Emma watched as Will, slouching, approached the silver sedan parked on the same spot, beside the dumpster; she watched Ed Schuester's silver sedan leave McKinley High before making her way back to the nurse's clinic. She still had work to do.

* * *

I know you're still quite confused about Emma's character. _And she still had work to do- what does that mean?_ You'll know more about our favorite ginger in subsequent chapters, so I hope you stick around for it! And in case you couldn't recall, Henry is Ed Schuester's son (the legitimate one) who also happens to be Emma's best friend.

_*Why Does It Always Rain on Me by Travis helped me finish this chapter. _


	3. Chapter 3: Glass House, Glass Heart

Chapter 3

_Glass House, Glass Heart*_

There comes a time in one's life in which he has to leave the comfort of his own home, in order to get a taste of what the world outside can offer. Endless possibilities await him and he gains all kinds of experiences—both good and bad—which make him wiser and more mature. When the time comes, eventually, he grows into his own person, no longer held back by the safety cushion of what he once called home; it is at this time that he is ready to build another home—his new home. It's inevitable, a part of life; just the same as when a baby bird grows up and has to leave its nest to live on its own, until it finds another bird, and together they begin to build a new nest. But all this ever spoke about was the child growing up and leaving his home—_his family_—behind; it portrayed the child's home as something that would always be there, something that would never be gone; even something the grown up child could go back to visit every once in a while. It never considered the possibility of the child losing its family sooner than he'd expected, forcing him out of his comfort zone—_his home_—much earlier than he'd like, even before he was prepared to do anything about it.

Will was four years old when he realized he was different from the other kids. Some of his classmates were picked up from preschool by their fathers, while he had never seen anyone other than his mom pick him up. At first, he didn't find anything wrong with his family setup—he didn't have a care in the world—because as far as he was concerned, he was living happily with his mom. Even without a father, Will still loved it when his mom ordered him his favorite chunky chocolate ice cream whenever they ate at a nearby diner; he still enjoyed running in the grassy field and hiding from her whenever she took him out to the park on Sundays. Besides that, Will's mother was able to take care of him in spite of a job that required her to be in the hospital for almost an entire day. Will had never been neglected and all his needs were met—nothing was wrong with the family he had and that's what he believed, until that fateful day when his mom had been ten minutes late in picking him up from preschool.

_Ten minutes. _

It was all it took for Will to have his first dose of bitter reality.

_He was sitting cross-legged on the matted floor, wheeling his toy truck back and forth while he waited for his mother to arrive. Will was getting nervous; his mother had never been late to pick him up after school. Every day after the class had been dismissed, Will would race with his friends to meet their parents outside—his mother would be standing at a distance, waving at him, and he'd run faster to show her a _Very Good!_ and a smiley face stamped on the back of his hand, or maybe perhaps one of the drawings they did that day. But this day was strange; Will didn't find his mom among the crowd of parents waiting for their kids. _

"_Go back inside, Will, I'm sure your mother's on her way," called Will's preschool teacher. Obedient as he was, he went back to the classroom, but his heart was pounding faster._

"_You're not yet leaving?" Only one of Will's classmates remained; a boy whose name he couldn't remember, the one who always remained behind, whose parents didn't come to pick him up as soon as the class was over. _

_Will could only nod, his anxiety increasing. What if his mother never arrived? _

"_C'mon, let's just play. My dad's late all the time too," said the boy, seemingly proud. He sat down beside Will on the matted floor and began building a tower of Lego blocks. The two boys were silent for a few minutes, minding their own business—the boy with his blocks and Will with his toy truck; their teacher had turned their back on them to clean up scattered crayons and stray toys around the classroom. _

"_Sometimes my mom picks me up too, just like you. She's never late too, but I like dad better because he buys me ice cream, so it's okay if he's late." The boy abandoned his Lego tower and picked up a toy police car not far from Will. "Is your dad late all the time too?"_

_Will unconsciously gripped his toy truck tightly. Without looking at his classmate, he muttered, "I don't have a dad."_

"_Why not? Everybody has a dad," the boy asserted matter-of-factly. "But my dad's daddy, grandpa, he died. Did your dad die?"_

_Where was she? Will didn't want to be where he was right now. His stomach was squirming. "I don't know." _

_ "You can always ask your mom when she picks you up. Why is she taking so long? Maybe she died too—owwww!"_

_ Without any second thoughts Will had whacked his classmate on the temple with his toy truck. The boy fell to the floor in loud, pained sobs, his hands covering his bleeding wound. The teacher had been too busy cleaning up that she had not witnessed the incident, and as she had not anticipated the event, she didn't keep a close watch on them._

_ "What happened? Boys!" she ran to Will's classmate upon hearing his cries, cradling the scared boy while she examined his injury. Will began to tear up, his hand cold, still gripping his bloodstained toy truck. _

_ "What's going on?" Cynthia Madison had just entered the room, her ponytailed curly brown hair windblown from hurrying to Will's preschool; witnessing Will's teacher helping a crying boy get to his feet and her son standing next to them, tears silently falling down his cheeks, her mouth fell open as she pieced together what could've happened before she arrived._

_ "We can discuss this later, but right now we need to get him to a hospital, just to make sure he's okay," said the preschool teacher. As soon as the boy heard the word _hospital_, he sobbed even louder. "Please just take Will home, Ms. Madison," she added. "I promise to call you later."_

_Cynthia Madison was both anxious and appalled at the situation she had walked in upon a while ago. She had an inkling of what may have happened but she still wanted to hear the story straight from her son and his preschool teacher. It was hard to believe what she had seen earlier—her sweet and thoughtful four-year-old, holding a bloodied toy truck and crying—since she very well knew Will didn't harm even the tiniest, most innocent insect, but before she assumed anything she had to know the truth; the truth she wanted Will to tell her first before his preschool teacher asked him about it._

_Will was seated at the foot of the stairs, his face covered by his tiny hands; Cynthia could still hear his muffled sobs no matter how much he tried to silence them._

"_Darling, I want you to tell me what happened at school," she began, taking a seat beside her son._

_Her four-year-old shook his head, still crying._

"_Will, I'm confused with what I saw. I don't know the whole story. If you tell me what really happened…," she whispered calmly, pulling her son into an embrace. _

"_D-do I have a d-dad?" Will whimpered, looking up at his mom. "My dad n-never shows u-up, h-he said it m-means he's dead, is h-he d-dead, M-Mommy? And when h-he s-said you weren't coming b-because maybe y-you were d-dead too, I g-got s-so m-mad I—I h-hit him, I-I'm s-so sorry, M-Mommy!" He was talking too fast, his sentences interjected by hiccups._

_This was something Cynthia did not anticipate at all. She inhaled deeply, not knowing how she should tell Will about his father. It could go two ways: she could carry on with the story and agree that Ed Schuester had died of a sickness or in a fire or something else—only she'd be lying to the most precious thing she had in her life, and she hated the thought of that. But telling Will the truth, that his father had left them before he was even born, was way too painful for a child to understand and accept. She didn't want her son to feel that his own father doesn't want him in his life; she doesn't want Will to feel the rejection she had gone through, especially rejection from the one who had helped conceive him._

_Cynthia Madison cleared her throat at last, deciding to tell some truths and— as much as it went against what she wanted—some lies. "You know, your dad's busy working," she said carefully, stroking Will's curly hair, which he undoubtedly got from her. _

_Will rubbed his eyes. "H-he's not dead?"_

"_He isn't, honey." Cynthia braced herself for the questions that were about to come. "I don't really know where he works, but I bet it's a place far from here, which is why he can't come home and live with us all the time."_

"_Why? Can't he just work somewhere nearby so that he can come home and have dinner with us and then he can pick me up from school too?" Innocent green eyes, still brimming with tears, stared expectantly at Cynthia—the curious, wondering, eyes of her son who was unaware of what he was really asking. His eyes were a perfect replica of Ed Schuester's._

"_Well," Cynthia tried to smile through a pang of discomfort. "More people need him in other places, which is why… his, uhm… boss, asked him to work far away, so that he can help more people."_

"_What work does he do?" Will had stopped crying._

_Now Cynthia knew she had to withhold this information from him. She was afraid that Will would start searching for his father once he got older, and giving him pieces of data about him would only speed up the process. It may be hard, but it wasn't impossible to track someone down. "You know what's funny, darling," she said, ruffling Will's hair, "I don't really know exactly what your father does," she lied. "But what I do know for sure is that he helps a lot of people and makes their lives better."_

"_Like a superhero?" Will said in awe._

_Cynthia bit her lip. She got up and carried Will even though he was getting heavier. "I guess, yeah… superhero." Making her way to the kitchen, she decided that it was time to change the subject, distract his son with other things. "Anyway," she said, "Enough of that. Aren't you hungry? Because I'm starving! What do you want to eat?"_

"_Can I ask one last question, please, Mommy?" begged Will._

"_The last one."_

"_What's Daddy's name?" _

_ "Edward Schuester. Okay, you want me to buy you an ice cream later?"_

_ "Yes!"_

Now no amount of ice cream could ever distract Will from the truth. As sure as his mother was dead, his father was not a superhero; to his patients, he may be a lifesaver, but to Will he was the villain. His mom was the real hero, the woman who had done anything and everything to make sure he grew up just as well as the other kids who had both parents. And as in every story, once the hero had died the villain would take the hero's prized possession as his own; in Will's case, _he_ was the prized possession.

The silver sedan parked precisely into the spacious garage. Ed Schuester got out of the car, snapping his fingers at Will to follow suit as he headed quickly into the box-shaped house— a three-storey, modern-styled structure with most of its walls made up of glass. The house was magnificent; faint sunbeams brightened the place and made shiny pieces of decor sparkle; it was spotless, and not to mention that the house had expensive furniture to match. But Will hasn't had the time to explore it just yet. They had passed quickly through the hallways and proceeded to climb the stairs, to the third floor, where there were three rooms. The older Schuester walked towards the first door a few steps from the staircase and opened it. "Here's your room," he said indifferently.

Will entered after his father. The room was definitely bigger than his bedroom at home; this had a king-sized bed, a wider closet, and apparently he had his own bathroom too. He also had two bedroom windows, one which had the view of a rectangular swimming pool in the backyard; the other had a less glamorous view of the street outside their house.

"Go ahead and rest, take a shower, whatever you wish to do—"

"I want to go home," scowled Will.

"Anything but that," Ed Schuester replied sternly. "I'll call you again later when it's time for dinner. You'll be meeting my wife and son by then, so behave yourself."

"What makes you think I won't behave?"

"That bruise on your face is proof enough," Ed shot back; Will covered the bruise on his jaw with one hand, glaring at his father. "Have you eaten?" Ed Schuester was back at the door, already posing to leave.

"No," grumbled Will.

"There is food downstairs if—"

"Not hungry," Will replied dismissively, turning his back on his father. He knew he was only doing this out of pity, not out of love. The door closed; he was alone again. And although being alone reminded him of the pain he has to live with everyday, a part of him felt relieved that at least he didn't have to interact with his father or his family—at least not yet, not for a few hours.

Will had taken a bath and had changed into a decent enough sweater and sweatpants, not bothering to dress into something fancier; besides, he had no expensive clothing to match Ed Schuester's luxurious "home". The bruise on his left jaw didn't look as gruesome anymore, but it still swelled a little. Two suitcases of his belongings lay untouched by the closet, waiting to be unpacked, but all he had unpacked so far was a towel, a tooth brush and toothpaste, soap and shampoo, underwear, a few pairs of socks, and the clothes he had changed into. Making himself comfortable on the bed, he opened his backpack and took out, among his books and notebooks, a framed photograph of him and his mother taken on his mother's final birthday before she died; he placed it by his bedside table and laid in bed, closing his eyes.

_One of their neighbors had taken the photo, happily obliging to take part in Will's surprise for his mother's 43__rd__ birthday. In it, Will, lean and towering in height, was grinning from ear to ear with his long arms wrapped lovingly around his mother._

_ "Will, honey, you didn't have to do this," Cynthia Madison was smiling too, tears filling up her eyes. She couldn't tell her son that this may be the last birthday she ever celebrated; she had already been diagnosed with breast cancer but she chose not to be treated—it was just as painful for her to undergo chemotherapy and know that Will was suffering, just watching her and not able to do anything about it. For Cynthia, it was better that she kept it to herself instead, and pretended that she was still perfectly healthy. "This dress is beautiful by the way," she said, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. She was wearing a silky, lilac dress that fell right down to her knees. "You really bought this?"_

_ "Yep," said Will proudly. "I got the money from my first babysitting job at the Johnsons' two weeks ago. But I had some help, though," he said, shrugging. "I didn't know what dress to get you so I asked one of the sales ladies at the store to choose the prettiest one. You like it?"_

_ "I love it, thank you, Will…."_

_ "Happy birthday, Mom," he said, kissing the top of his mother's head._

He didn't realize how long he had been in bed and that he had fallen into a short nap, until loud knocks on the door snapped him back to wakefulness. Ed Schuester stepped inside and took a quick look around the room, while Will stood up and straightened his sweater.

"I see you haven't unpacked all of your things," Ed Schuester said, as his eyes fell upon the framed picture on his son's bedside table; he turned away before Will saw him looking at it, reminding himself not to look at the photo again. His son only shrugged in response and didn't even look at him.

"Dinner's ready, let's go."

As they neared the dining area, Will heard male and female voices conversing, laughing; it was his father's wife and son, both of whom he was going to meet. _What would they look like, and how would they behave? He wanted to know what kind of people his father left him and his mother for._ Will walked behind his father, who was striding confidently ahead of him. They had finally reached the dining area which looked just as modern as the rest of the house, with a dining table made of glass and could seat at least eight people.

A tall, slender woman with blonde hair and blue eyes looked up upon hearing the two Schuesters arrive; she had just set a bowl of freshly-cooked potatoes on the table. She had smiled at Ed upon seeing him, but her lips tightened when she had noticed Will just behind her husband. Already seated by the table and ready to eat, a boy, about a year younger than Will had almost the same reaction as his mother's; upon seeing his father he had greeted him, but he seemed to have frozen once he set his eyes upon Will. The boy took on a lot from his mother, having the same blond hair and blue eyes. Mother and son fell silent, and the tension in the room heightened in a matter of seconds.

Ed Schuester pulled Will from behind him and clasped him on the shoulder; if at some point he felt uncomfortable in this situation—his family meeting his teenage illegitimate son— he sure wasn't showing any signs of it. Instead Ed was, as how some would call it, _professional_, in handling the situation. He cleared his throat and spoke without hesitation. "This is my son, William." Ed's wife, forcing a smile, made her way to her seat at the table, next to her son.

The older Schuester continued. "William, this is my wife, Susan—" he paused, "—and my son, Henry." He then pointed at a seat across from his family, and Will understood that it was where he was to be seated. Awkwardly and without looking at Susan and Henry Schuester's faces, he took a seat next to his father.

Eerie silence consumed the room, neither one of them wanting to be the first to break it, until Ed Schuester spoke authoritatively once again. "The food's getting cold. Let's eat."

* * *

_Glass House, Glass Heart_ is the title because glass (for me) represents fragility and vulnerability, which I wanted to focus on in this chapter. _Glass House_ is clearly pertaining to Ed Schuester's home, which is where we also get a first look at his wife and son—Susan and Henry; these two will return in later chapters so don't worry that they haven't said anything at all in chapter 3. Not only did I use a modern "glass" house to depict how Ed Schuester really is a well-off man, but most of all I wanted his house to be something Will would have a hard time attaching himself to, because as he says, it is not his "home", and it shows that a structurally beautiful house doesn't necessarily mean "home". _Glass Heart_ pretty much covers the two flashback scenes in this chapter, where we get glimpses of Will's relationship with his mom, Cynthia Madison. I hope that with these flashbacks, you get to see why Will loves his mother so much, and how in turn, his mother loves him just as much. Besides, having these flashbacks are important because Will's mother is dead, so the only way I could bring her back was through these. _Glass Heart_ also represents how Will, after his mother's death, has become fragile and heartbroken.

_*Unlike the first two chapters, the title did not come from a song. _


	4. Chapter 4: Complicated

Note: I suggest you read Chapter 2 again before reading this one, just so you'll understand the connection of events and dialogues in this chapter. But I guess if you've taken my story to heart and you know every detail then I guess there's no need for that.

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Chapter 4

_Complicated*_

The bell had rung fifteen minutes ago, signaling the start of the first class of the day. Emma's algebra teacher had begun the boring discussion on polynomials from where he had left off the other day when Henry, his blond hair damp and uncombed, with bangs covering his eyes, had only just arrived and was trying surreptitiously to enter the classroom without getting caught; unfortunately their middle-aged teacher seemed to have woken on the wrong side of the bed that day and decided to vent his early morning anger on Henry and his tardiness.

"Schuester," the Math teacher barked, stopping Henry just when he was about to take a seat next to Emma, who had saved him a seat.

Henry bit his lip and slouched, feeling everyone's eyes pierce him; it was still happening—everyone was giving him the attention that made him wish he was invisible instead. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"_Sorry_… you think that's enough?" The algebra teacher crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. The class fell silent and Emma held her breath, dreading what was about to come. "Just because you are the son of the richest, most successful man in all of Lima, Ohio, you think you can barge into my class and simply say sorry for interrupting it?"

"N-no," Henry was pale, unable to look his teacher in the eye.

"Then how about detention, after class—"

"I've got swim practice, S-Sir—"

"What was that?" The teacher scoffed, turning his back to write equations on the board.

"Nothing." Henry dropped his bag and sat hopelessly in his seat, not bothering to defend himself, knowing his teacher would find a way to fire it back to him.

"Henry, I'm sorry," Emma squeezed his arm lightly. "I should've said something," she whispered, while the teacher's back was still turned.

"It's fine. I wouldn't want to cause anyone any more trouble."

"I'm not just anyone," Emma shot back proudly. "I'm your best friend—"

"I know that, Ems, geez—"

"I'm just really worried about you. You practically avoided me all day yesterday—"

"Perhaps you'd like to spend more time chatting with Schuester in detention, Miss Pillsbury?" Their math teacher was livid, his angry voice echoing in the room.

_No, please don't_, Henry thought.

"3 o'clock—both of you. Now where were we, before these two showoffs decided to interrupt my lesson...?"

"Emma, you haven't stopped asking me how I was since this morning. Look what that got us—detention." Henry and Emma were seated by their twosome in a table in the cafeteria, while most tables were filled up with groups of cheerleaders, jocks, and nerds huddled together in their private worlds. The two weren't exactly fond of wanting to belong to a certain group of kids who bonded over shared interests; and they weren't the type the other kids would want in their tables either, so they were content in each other's company.

"Well, I'd stop asking if you actually answered the question," Emma replied wittily.

"I've already said—"

"You say you're fine, but it doesn't look like it… I mean, you haven't even told me anything about how dinner with your family went last night, or how it was like in the house with your new brother," Emma paused, taking a sip of apple juice. "I worry when you're not telling me anything."

Henry set his fork down and stopped eating. "For the record, he's not my 'new' brother," he snorted, as though believing the idea of Will being his brother was a joke. "I wouldn't even call him my brother—"

"Henry!" Emma almost stood up from her seat, appalled by her best friend's indifference.

"If it weren't for him, people wouldn't be looking at me funny and whispering crappy bullshit about Dad! Am I right?"

"It's not entirely his fault! Why are you being so mean?" Emma leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with frustration.

"You of all people should understand me, Emma," Henry said more calmly. "You're supposed to be on my side, remember?"

"I am!" she said, running her hands through her hair in exasperation. "I just thought you'd be more understanding. Did you even think about how he must feel for a change, instead of it being all about you all the time?"

"Where the hell is this coming from?" Henry pushed his plate away from him.

Emma had a quick flashback from yesterday when she had first encountered Will; the curly-haired boy had been so angry, it scared her—at the same time she had also realized how wrong it was to have pried into his personal life without any regard as to how he might feel about it. She closed her eyes and sighed, trying to calm herself down. "Since when have you become so selfish, Henry?"

"Since when have you started attacking me like this?"

"I'm not attacking you! I'm just saying you shouldn't be so insensitive, especially not to Will!" She had already stood up, her eyebrows furrowing together, her fists balling up without her consent.

"Whose side are you really on, his or mine?" Henry was just as enraged, his voice rising. Some students in the nearby tables had turned to watch the blond and the redhead's unexpected fighting match. "You're saying I'm insensitive? Well, guess what—you're being insensitive to how I'm feeling too." He stood up and flung his bag over his shoulder. "Oh, and later at detention don't expect me to talk to you because I guess I'm really just selfish and insensitive—like you said." He shook his head and walked out of the cafeteria, leaving Emma to stand by the table alone, left embarrassed while a few students snickered.

Unknown to both Emma and Henry, Will had witnessed their little show from a few tables away. He had kept silent and kept his head down at times just in case either one noticed him; the other students were watching too so they couldn't have noticed him sitting alone in one corner. Honestly, he didn't know how to feel about what he'd just heard; Emma had stood up for him against her own best friend—his half-brother Henry who still refused to acknowledge his existence. Will couldn't tell, however, if the girl was only doing it to compensate for having wronged him yesterday or if she did genuinely care about his feelings. Not that it mattered to him (or did it?), but still, it was too soon to tell what Emma's real motives were.

He was playing with the grapes on his plate, chasing it with his fork as he relished in his own thoughts, when he sensed someone take a seat next to him on the table.

"How long have you been here?" Emma's unmistakable voice was now just a whisper; she seemed to be panting a little, probably from having yelled too much at Henry.

Will stabbed one of his grapes and shoved it into his mouth, making sure the fruit made crunching noises as he chewed it. "I dunno, maybe I've been here since the bell rang for lunch," he said sardonically.

Emma swallowed loudly, her face beginning to blush again just as it had yesterday, when she and Will first met. "W-was there any chance you… you saw—H-Henry and I—"

"I could see your table from over here. What do you think?" Will raised his eyebrow inquiringly.

"Then you must've heard our argument—"

"What's your point?" Will had leaned forward and glared at Emma; she had shifted her body away from him, fearing he might suddenly pounce on her the way a lion would to a prey it has spotted.

"Again, I'm sorry." She blurted out. Emma clasped her fingers together and placed them on the table. "I'm sorry for what happened yesterday… and I'm sorry for what happened today. On Henry's behalf, I apologize," her voice began to crack, but she made sure she no tears would start falling.

Will looked away, staring at the remaining grapes on his plate instead. He felt Emma's sincerity in her words and knew she was close to tears, so he stopped intimidating her. "Anything else?" he said nonchalantly, pretending not to be touched by the redhead's kindness.

Emma straightened up and bit her lip. "When you said yesterday, that um, everybody just pretends to... care about you…." It was her turn to lean forward and as she did, she whispered in a softer voice, "I… I'm not. I meant—I'm not pretending. I honestly do care." She swallowed again, feeling relieved that she was able to say everything she needed to say without Will scaring her off.

"Well, that's it… I should go. I'll leave you to finish your lunch." She smiled weakly at him but Will continued to idly roll the grapes around on his plate. Only as soon as Emma's back was turned did Will look up at her again, watching her retreating figure slowly disappear among the crowd of students.

* * *

_*The title is from Avril Lavigne's angsty hit song, Complicated. _


	5. Chapter 5: You Make My Sun Shine

NOTE! You guys have no idea how much I'm excited for you guys to read this chapter. I may tweet about it once in a while, but no amount of tweeting could ever express my excitement! I loved writing this chapter, so I do hope you love it too! Your comments/insights/reviews are very well-appreciated, as I always say. Thank you so much, Wemmites! Enjoy!

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Chapter 5

_You Make My Sun Shine*_

Will's life had become a daily, boring repetition of the same activities ever since he moved to live with his father's family. Every morning at six he'd wake up in the middle of his ridiculously spacious bed and he'd spend a few minutes staring at the plain, white ceiling before he actually got up to go to the bathroom; the drops of water that hit Will's back as he stood sleepily under the shower rendered him completely awake, and from there he began to move at a faster pace, his senses coming alive as the water hit his skin. In a matter of minutes he was able to get himself clothed—the usual t-shirt and jeans, but he'd started to wear a sweater and a jacket because December had rolled in, bringing the chilly breeze along with it; he didn't bother combing his hair because his curls looked better uncombed once it dried up; he'd put his sneakers on and headed downstairs, backpack in tow.

Will had realized during his first morning in Ed Schuester's house that he was the earliest one up, surprised to find no one in the kitchen preparing breakfast, or anyone bustling around to take a bath and get ready for the day. Having been brought up by his mother, who was a nurse, to wake up and prepare early to avoid being late, he found this new environment quite unusual; he and his mother always got ready on time, and they'd both leave the house together—Will went to school while Cynthia Madison made her way to the hospital. But not long after he'd settled down in the kitchen to munch on an apple, Susan and Ed Schuester had followed; Will's father was already dressed, looking sharp as usual with his neatly-pressed clothes and combed hair. Ed Schuester took one look at Will and remarked, "Good, you're ready," before turning to his wife. "Henry needs to be up the same time we all do. He's already in high school and yet he doesn't give a damn about punctuality."

Susan sighed, as she took some food and cooking materials from the cabinets. "Your son's dead tired from swimming practice every day, Edward. And he still needs to study! Stop being so hard on him."

"You know you can't keep spoiling him," grumbled Ed Schuester. "Next thing you know he's off to college. How is he supposed to wake up on his own?"

"Alarm clocks exist, Ed," said Susan. "Until then, let Henry be our little boy."

Will had sat through the entire conversation, realizing he shouldn't even be there to listen to them; he slinked away from his seat but Ed Schuester stopped him.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked sternly, to which Will held up his half-eaten apple. "I'm not really hungry," he said honestly. "I'll just… I'll leave now; the school bus will be at the bus stop soon." And without waiting for his father's reply, he left.

Since moving to Lima, Ohio, it has always been the same, boring routine. _Even in McKinley High._

He'd arrive in school along with most other students who also rode the bus, then he'd proceed to get the books in his locker. Will already managed to memorize his class schedules by heart, as well as the classrooms where he should be at given periods, so his feet would mindlessly lead the way without any worries of getting lost within the school grounds. During lunch, he'd eat alone at a table in the corner of the cafeteria, and be back in the classroom once the bell rang. Once classes were dismissed for the day, Will was once again on the bus then back in his father's house— where he'd shower, do his assignments, spend yet another awkward dinner with his father's family, until it was late and he'd simply fall asleep. He'd earned no friends despite having lived in Lima for more than a month already, and so Will lived in silence with no one to talk to, except of course the instances when he'd needed to stoically answer his father's questions. Occasionally he'd pass Emma in the hallway and when she saw him she'd smile and wave shyly at him, but he'd never really greeted her back, still doubtful of what her true intentions were. _Was she befriending him because she pitied him, or did she really want to reach out to him?_

Will had fallen into a dreadful pattern of tasks that neither gave him the satisfaction or joy of living. He still existed, but he sure wasn't living his life. _He was still alive—or was he…?_ Will couldn't tell the difference anymore.

It was one of those days again. Will had just gotten home from school, barely exhausted from his classes. In his previous school, he used to do more than just sit in class; he had balanced all sorts of extracurricular activities without it having a negative effect on his study habits and grades. Being on the soccer team, glee club, and the student council did not prove to be a detriment, but instead served as Will's life source, urging him to keep striving harder and doing the best that he can in all that he was involved in.

He decided to take a long warm shower before starting his Chemistry assignment; the air had been colder than usual today and Will wanted the prickly feel of hot water wash upon him so he could focus better. His curly hair straightened out as soon as it was drenched, while Will watched the water drip from the tips of his fingers, onto his feet, and onto the tiled bathroom floor. The water just slid down his body and went straight to drain, just as much as he felt his own life was wasting away—down the drain, slipping through his fingertips.

Will didn't know for how long he had been standing under the shower but knew he should probably snap back into reality after he saw how pale his feet had become. Stepping out of the bathroom and drying himself up, he realized how much he suddenly craved for a glass of water, which was strange for some reason because having lingered around so much water only intensified his thirst. He hurried to get dressed, grabbing boxer shorts and a t-shirt and slipping into it before he sped down the stairs towards the kitchen. Chugging down two glasses of water one after the other, Will heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against the kitchen counter. He filled the glass one last time, and was halfway through finishing it when he heard noises and the sound of the front door unlocking. He prayed it wasn't his father's wife, Susan (who Will presumed was most likely the person to be at the door because both Henry and his father came home at around dinner time); it was awkward enough having to sit across from her every dinner—definitely Will preferred not having to let her catch him half-naked too. Choosing to finish the remaining contents of his glass upstairs, he silently crept into the hallway leading to the staircase, when a shadow of some sort had moved on his right; a second later, Emma popped out, peeking from the living room—she was grinning at first, having thought she was going to see Henry, but her face transformed into one who was genuinely shocked as soon as her eyes met Will's instead.

"Holy shit!" Will jumped in surprise, spilling the glass of water onto his t-shirt, a black top with a large Superman logo in the middle. "What are you doing here?!"

Emma seemed to have been shaken as well; her face was pale, her eyes dilated, and her mouth dropped open. Her fingertips were shivering slightly, still unable to recover from the thrill that had rushed through her nerves. "Wh-what are you doing here?" she stuttered.

"I live here!" Will responded immediately. "What are you doing here?" He asked again, pointing at her when he said _you_.

But Emma couldn't get her voice to leave her throat. Her eyes had wandered down from Will's eyes to his soaked black t-shirt—now clinging tightly to his torso—down to his boxers shorts—that were seemingly too tight for him to fit into; she tried to speak again, but all she could gasp out were three words: "Oh my god."

Will swallowed uncomfortably, feeling the blood rush both to his face and to the sensitive spot in between his legs. Following the direction where her eyes were focused on, Will looked down upon himself and realized Emma wasn't staring at the Superman logo on his shirt but at a place lower than that; his crotch area had bulged, and to make things worse he had chosen to wear a pair of boxers he owned a year ago which had only emphasized his private part. He was basically half-naked in front of her and here she was, shamelessly staring at him!

"S-so…what are you… doing… here?" Will said loudly, covering his groin with his hands and the empty glass of water he was gripping too tightly.

Emma had looked up again, to Will's relief. Her huge brown eyes, if anything, were only more dilated than ever, and her face seemed to have gone redder than her own hair. "Huge—huge thing," she blurted out.

"W-what?"

"H-huge _science p-project_ thing—with Henry, that's what I was going t-to say!"

"Well, where is he?" Will toughened up, but he was still embarrassed, wanting nothing more than to get a pair of sweatpants or jeans on.

"Upstairs. He's, um, getting the materials we need f-for the thing—the science project." said Emma. She was tugging at the scarf wrapped cozily around her neck as she was beginning to sweat, although she couldn't quite tell the reason why she was feeling so warm on a cold December day.

"Oh. So you're friends again?" His mind went back to that day when Henry and Emma fought over him.

"Yes, we are." She said simply.

"Great." _Did he just sound disappointed?_ Will heard it in his own voice, as though he disliked the idea of Emma back on Henry's side. _But Emma was still going to stand up for him, wasn't she? Emma was still on his side, right? Has she ever been, in the first place? Why was he even bothered by all of this?_

"So, you're feeling at home here, I could tell," Emma decided to change the subject, trying her best to keep her eyes on Will's instead of straying to other parts of his body.

"Nope. Not one bit," shrugged Will. "This is an insanely large house to call a home."

"You're right," Emma smiled, stepping closer to Will. "You know when Henry first brought me here I thought we were in Disneyland," she laughed softly.

"This isn't the happiest place on earth, why would you even think along the lines of Disneyland?" Will snorted, shaking his head at the mere thought.

"I—I don't know, you're right I guess," Emma said, nodding. She took another nervous step towards him, breathing heavily again. "Your shirt's still wet, Will. I'm sorry I startled you."

Will wanted to take a step back, feeling the lower part of his body warm up again; times like these he hated having to be a hormonal teenage boy who couldn't fully control his body's urges. "It's f-fine. P-pretend it never happened."

Emma smiled gratefully before reaching into her bag. "You can dry yourself off with this," she said, handing him a white face towel. "I know it's yours. I'm sorry it took me a while to return it to you… you weren't exactly, um, approachable these past few weeks."

It was the same towel Will had coughed his bloody mouth into after some boys had cornered him during his first day at McKinley High. He remembered hiding it under the pillow in the nurse's clinic where he slept, but he'd forgotten all about it until now, when Emma was returning it to him.

"I'd say thanks… but you're creeping me out." Will furrowed his eyebrows at Emma as he took the towel from her. "How'd you find this?"

"I can explain that, actually—"

"Whoa, why are you dressed like that?" Henry had jogged down the stairs, carrying the box of materials for their project; he was now looking at Will disgustedly.

"He didn't know we'd be here," Emma chimed before Will could answer back. "Didn't you tell him about the project we were—?"

"I don't need to tell him anything," said Henry, cutting Emma off. "C'mon, we need to get started," and he led the way to the living room.

"You better go," Will said, seemingly unaffected by Henry's continued retorts against him.

Emma smiled apologetically. "Sorry about that. I keep telling him to treat you better."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Emma mumbled, pretending not to understood Will's question—oh, but how she knew perfectly well what he meant, only she didn't want to voice it out.

"Emma!" Henry yelled from the living room; he was getting impatient.

"I have to go!" Emma stepped back and grinned at Will, her cheeks still blushing as her eyes strayed stubbornly for one last glance at Will's body—_why couldn't she keep her eyes on the level of Will's face?_ Mentally berating herself, Emma could only bite her lip and act like her thoughts weren't bothering her. "I'll see you around school," she added, waving once at him as she disappeared into the living room.

"I'll see you around school," Will repeated to himself as soon as he was back in his room, lying in bed as he stared at the ceiling he'd known every detail of.

_I'll see you_, he thought.

And from that day forward, life would never be a cycle of boring routines for Will Schuester ever again.

* * *

_*It's a song by Swim Deep with the same title. _


	6. Chapter 6: Someday, Someday

Quick note: If you noticed, the past few chapters have been Will-centered; spoiler alert: this chapter won't be. This will be the first of the few Emma-centered chapters, because I find it necessary to let you know what the family dynamics are in the Pillsbury household. This will definitely make sense in later chapters when we see more of how Emma behaves and acts around people. Hope you like this chapter!

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Chapter 6

_Someday, Someday_

It was difficult growing up in the Pillsbury household—or at least that's what Emma thought. Even at a young age she had somehow known to herself that she wasn't the favorite child among Rose and Rusty Pillsbury's three redheaded children, but she refused to think of it that way, thinking instead that maybe her parents' less warm treatment of her over her siblings was just a case of tough love that naturally occurs in a family. But she had to admit that in one way or another, she felt as though her parents kept focusing their attention and energy on either Patrick—the eldest in the family and five years older than her— or Leila—the family's 'baby' so to speak, even if she was only a year younger than the skinny and doe-eyed Emma.

The sports-inclined Patrick almost always got praises for when he excelled in whichever sports he decided to join, and he joined a lot; he has tried playing football, basketball, running in athletics, and hockey—and he was good at it all— but he settled down on the sport he enjoyed the most: swimming. Rusty, being the proud father of a strong-willed son, tirelessly drove Patrick to all his practices and games, until all the hard work eventually got him on McKinley High's varsity swimming team as soon as he graduated from middle school. Apparently it was the ticket to being part of the popular crowd too, and as he got older he was already dating McKinley's prettiest senior or one of the quirky cheerleaders who'd gotten his attention; high school was a breeze for Patrick, because everyone knew him and wanted to be friends with him.

Leila, although Rose and Rusty both admitted that their youngest child had been unplanned and was accidental, still received the most attention from her parents mainly because she was a cheerful baby who rarely cried. She sang and dance and filled the house with delight, not a hint of shyness in her body; whenever a relative would come to visit they'd always beg for little Leila to sing and she'd do a complete performance in the family room, basking in everyone's attention and adoration. Now that she was a freshman in high school she was beginning to stand out from among her classmates, her bubbly personality gaining her some new friends and an assured spot in the popular crowd.

The same couldn't be said for Emma, who was in no way inclined to sports or anything that had an audience watching her perform; as much as it seemed like fun, watching Patrick swim and Leila shaking her hips and singing along to pop songs, the thought of doing those things herself made Emma anxious. She had been a tiny baby and still grew up to be petite in spite of having two tall parents; as her father always reminded her, "You're too fragile." _Fragile_, that's what he always said; it could've been a more positive word like _gentle_, perhaps, but it was always _fragile_—spoken in Rusty's rough and condescending voice. As soon as she'd known what the word meant, she slowly started to believe it. Her mother, Rose, seemed to have been influenced by her husband's way of thinking too, underestimating her eldest daughter even when she was doing just fine. She'd ask Emma to rearrange the utensils and plates on the dining table when she saw that a fork was out of line; or being the overbearing mother that she is, she'd tell Emma to rewrite her essay for school because her handwriting wasn't neat enough. For some reason, it was never enough for Rose and Rusty; Emma wasn't enough, and so they'd diverted their time to their two other children instead.

One would think that living a life like this would be unbearable, but this was the life Emma had known for sixteen years and her mind had learned to repress any negative feelings towards her parents, making herself believe that they were _her_ parents after all; surely they meant nothing but the best for her… _or did they?_ She had never been jealous of her brother and sister though—all she had ever been was proud of them, her heart full of love and well-wishes to her siblings as they went and accomplished great things. Emma did feel ordinary, comparing herself to Patrick and Leila, but she didn't feel any less special because she chose to believe that she'd find her spot in the world someday too; maybe one day she'd wake up and realize what her strengths were, and finally excel in them.

With Patrick already in college, Emma was now the eldest child at home and Rose Pillsbury's right-hand person; she'd spend her free time helping her mother out with the household chores, and even though Rose would tell her to rinse the plates a second time or vacuum the living room again because she wasn't contented with its cleanliness, Emma didn't seem to mind. Unconsciously, it gave her a sense of fulfillment, a kind of relief from the everyday anxiety she denied ever existed; her simple joys revolved around these chores, these repetitive tasks which had a certain routine and required a certain order.

Being around her mother in the house, Emma had learned how to cook too, and she enjoyed assisting her mother whenever she cooked her father's favorite meals. Rusty would be away for a few days at a time when he was on business trips, and one of the things he had always looked forward to were eating his favorite home-cooked food with a glass or two of chardonnay to match. He had come home one day and took a spoonful of warm beef stew, savoring the flavor in his mouth while he smiled appreciatively at his wife.

"Emma did most of the cooking this time," said Rose quite proudly, placing her hand on her husband's and patting it softly.

Rusty had swallowed and eyeing his daughter, astounded, he leaned back in his chair and said contentedly, "That was good." And the rest of the evening had passed without any further mention of Emma's cooking.

It was that night, when the sixteen-year-old ginger was cuddled up under her soft blankets and ready to sleep, when a lone tear fell from the side of her eye onto her pillow. Deep inside herself, she knew why she felt so wronged, undermined, and hurt: because of one simple compliment (and its lack thereof) from the very people who should be supporting her. Emma hastily brushed the tear aside before the others followed, refusing to acknowledge that she was hurt, refusing to admit that she was "good". _Well, she didn't want to be just good—it wasn't enough; she had to be perfect!_ Having lived with two remarkable siblings, she wanted to prove to herself and to her parents that she could be like them too; only when Emma felt like she had finally found something she was good at, something she could finally be proud of, the very people who should be lifting her up burns down the flame of hope in her heart with a single word that won't stop bothering her: _good._

_Good. _Maybe Leila was better and Patrick was the best, while Emma—she was just good. She flipped herself over in bed, laying on her stomach and burying her face in her pillow, biting her lip while still fighting back the tears. She kept telling herself that it was going to be okay; things were going to be better for her when the moment came…. _Maybe it just wasn't her time yet._

Emma dreamed that someday, when that day finally came, her parents would finally see her as their daughter and as a person who had potentials, skills, and talents. But as much as she tried to give herself a relaxing reassurance that everything was going to be fine, she could still hear her father's voice resonating in her head, over and over, in a low, buzzing whisper: _that was good_… _that was_ _good_… _good_….

Now _good_ didn't seem like such a good word after all.

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Another note: Did you miss Will? Don't worry, he'll be back in chapter 7. Better watch out for it!


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